


you’re never too lost to know where the road is

by mysterytwin



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Gen, Light Angst, PACIFICA IS MY DAUGHTER, and based on that one post where she works at the diner with lazy susan, this is also Pacifica-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytwin/pseuds/mysterytwin
Summary: It turns out being good can be hard, but working at Greasey’s Diner can help, even just a little.





	you’re never too lost to know where the road is

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on [this post](http://starbutterflly.tumblr.com/post/162692918833/creeping-babby-look-at-her-go) where Pacifica ends up working at Greasey's Diner with Lazy Susan

The whole ‘Never Mind All That’ act is getting a little tiring. Sure, it helps people bear with the fact that the whole town was taken over by a demon with too many tricks but too little patience up his sleeves, but it also made things a lot _harder_. Well, for Pacifica, it does.

How else was she supposed to explain how her family suddenly went broke?

 _Oh, my father invested all his money into some weird apocalypse_. Yeah. That would make a lot of sense, wouldn’t it?

It makes her head ache. More importantly, it makes her pity herself. And Pacifica doesn’t like holding pity parties for one (her parents don’t count — they’re too busy wallowing in their own self pity to even try feeding their own daughter).

After the whole Weirdmageddon shenanigan, her parents had enough to last them about a month, if properly spent. But with the excessive need to keep up their reputation with more fancy clothes and jewelry, the money only last them a week. Even after selling her pony. (Which sucked lots, to say the least.)

They’ve started receiving some money from relatives who heard the terrible news. They had to help them rise back up again — they couldn’t afford or risk the entire world knowing. But the money isn’t enough, and only good for a meal a day, if most of it isn’t spent buying wine and losing gambles.

Her eyes are weary, and she feels her stomach growl with hunger. How long has it been since her last meal? Her memory is foggy, almost as if the days are all blending into one another.

She groans and buries her head into her arms on the table. Why did she even come to Greasey’s Diner? It’s not like she has any money to spend. The smell of pancakes isn’t helping, either. All she wanted to do was get away from her parents, and this is a little bit more bearable, but—

so. hungry.

“Ya want a pancake there, hun?”

Her head lifts, and Pacifica finds herself staring into Lazy Susan’s eye. She smiles sweetly at her, carrying two empty plates in hand, on her way back to the kitchen.

Pacifica fakes a smile, and tries to ignore the urge to say _yes, please, I’m starving._

“No, I — I’ll be fine,” she says instead, and her voice catches on her own words. She’s used to lying by now, but something feels different about it. It feels… _wrong_. And it’s always been wrong to lie, yeah, she knows that, but she — she feels guilty about it. So this is what guilt is, huh?

Bring it on.

(She’d felt it twice before. Once when she’d lied to Dipper Pines about the ghost in the Manor, and the other time with his sister, Mabel, after she’d been given the llama sweater. Which, coincidentally, she’s wearing right now.)

“Ya don’t look so good to me,” Lazy Susan adds, giving her a worried look — why would she be worried about her? Pacifica’s never done a single nice thing to her in her entire life. A thought occurs to her, that maybe — maybe some people are just _good_.

(Maybe Mabel meant it when she said it was nice to meet her the first time around. Maybe Dipper wasn’t lying when he told her it wasn’t too late to change. Maybe.)

“How ‘bout I fix you up a plate of ‘em? I figure a young, pretty thing like you could use it,” the older woman tells her. “On the house.”

Pacifica swallows. If — if people like Lazy Susan could be good and offer pancakes to strangers who were starving, then she could change her ways, too. Right?

“Okay,” she manages to say with a small smile.

And Susan leaves, humming to herself. Pacifica stares out the window. Is this okay? Lazy Susan was offering her food, so she couldn’t just refuse it. A good person would accept it, right? Or would they turn it down because they don’t want to be another burden?

Ugh.

Why hadn’t anyone told her being good was so _difficult_?

(But maybe that’s what made being good so precious — because it’s so hard. It’s no easy choice, not an easy decision to make. It’s doing what’s right, even if doing what’s right seems like a double-edge sword.)

“Here ya go, sweetie,” Lazy Susan says as she slides a plate onto the table. “Finest pancakes I ever made, if I say so myself.” She chuckles at that. “Do you want coffee? Are you too young to drink coffee?”

“I…uh…” Pacifica trails. She bites the inside of her cheek. A Northwest is never speechless. What is she doing? She coughs. “The pancakes are enough.”

“If you say so, dear,” Lazy Susan says with yet another bright smile. She places a hand on her hip. “Call if ya need anything.”

She turns around to walk back behind the counter.

Pacifica bites her lip. “Lazy Susan? Uh, I mean, Miss Susan?”

The older woman turns back around. “Susan is fine, dear. What’s wrong?”

She takes in a breath and glances at the pancakes in front of her, smelling absolutely delicious. She grins. “Thank you.”

Susan returns the smile. “You’re welcome, Pacifica.”

When Pacifica takes a bite into the pancake, she thinks tht maybe being good wouldn’t be too bad after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Whenever she’s feeling lonely or annoyed because of her parents (mostly the latter), Pacifica finds her feet taking her to Greasey’s Diner. It’s not much, but the scent of pancakes and coffee soothes her nerves.

Susan, as it turns out, is pretty great company. She’s not the best, but. She’s okay.

“What’ll it be today, hun?”

“The usual, please. Just pancakes,” she says with a hint of a smile.

“Are ya gonna take some back to your parents? I can pack ya double,” Susan offers.

Pacifica considers it. They’ve ignored her, mostly, now that they’re too busy trying to recreate who they used to be by gambling mall they’ve got left. She’s so used to the smell of alcohol at home that the pancakes are a breath of fresh air.

Should she? She’s supposed to be good now. Would a good person give her horrible parents food? Maybe.

“Okay,” she tells her. “But only if you have enough to spare.”

Susan nods. She opens her mouth to say something else, but hesitates and closes it again.

Pacifica raises any eyebrow. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry, if you don’t, that’s fine, you’ve been giving me so much already, and sometimes your pancakes are the only meal I have in two days—”

“Ya see, sweetie, that’s exactly what I was thinkin’ ‘bout,” Susan interrupts.

Pacifica’s heart drops. This is it. She’s going to be kicked out of Greasey’s Diner for good and lose the only real friend she’s had for a while now, and—

“Why don’t you work here?”

—and that is not at all what she was expecting.

Before she can ask, Susan continues, “I mean, hun, at least that way, you’ll have money to buy you and your parents food that isn’t pancakes, ya know? Afford runnin’ water and electricity. Pay your tuition fee. Have three meals a day — that sorta thing. You don’t have to, if ya feel it ain’t your thing, but I’m just sayin’ that it would make things easier for ya.”

She feels as if the world has stopped spinning. She knows the answer in her gut, and her parents couldn’t possibly care more than they already do, so—

“Yes,” she finds herself saying. “Yes, thank you so much, I’d like that.”

It would distract her from everything else.

Susan laughs heartily. “Great. I could show ya the ropes today, if that’s alright, and you could start tomorrow. Sound good?”

Pacifica beams. “Perfect.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The job makes things a little easier, but it also makes things a lot harder.

Pacifica has long dropped out of the fancy private school near the city because her family couldn’t afford it, so now she’s working her butt off at the Diner so that she can pay off her tuition and continue her studies at the Gravity Falls school next year. And as much as it sucks to be a year older than everyone else in her grade, it’s better than it studying at all. And even during the next school year, she might stoll

So. School is no longer a problem for the year.

Her parents never even ask where she goes off to. All that matters to them is that she’s there to clean up the living room for the next day’s gambles. They’ve totally become shells of who they used to be, and Pacifica’s not so sure they can ever go back. And just sometimes — _sometimes_ — she misses the better days. 

(Or is _now_ the better days? Now that she’s decided to be a better person; now that she _is_ a better person, how can she even tell? So maybe life is ten times harder, but she’s not a puppet anymore, not a doll stuck in a dollhouse. Maybe this is the better life. She’s not totally sure, but it might be.) 

But what she doesn’t miss is that stupid bell. 

She still flinches at the sound of any bell, really, and it won’t ever stop, but it does get easier. And that’s just what she needs right now. 

Things are easier now. 

(In fact, a couple months after working with Susan, she’d been able to buy herself a new dress for her birthday.) 

The door of the Diner opens and Pacifica’s eyes flicker to see who it is. She almost drops the plate when she sees _them._

Okay, so sometimes things are not easier. This is one of those times. 

Of _course_ they’d be here. It’s almost Christmas, and of _course_ they want to come back every chance they get — especially since their great uncles had just recently arrived from sea. Of course. 

“Susan!” she hisses as she ducks behind the corner. She can’t let them see her — what will they think of her? The great Pacifica Northwest working in a Diner. With a dirty apron and messy hair. 

Okay, so they have seen her in a potato sack, but this is different. It just is. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” Susan says as she flips a pancake. “Customer find some hair in their food?” 

“Well, yes, there was a complaint earlier, but that’s not the point! Can we — can we switch positions for, uh, the next hour or so? I really, really wanna try making some pancakes.” 

Susan eyes her. “What’s with the sudden change of heart? I thought you didn’t want anywhere near the stove.” 

“Uh…I…” she trails, unsure. “I want to try something new?” 

Susan is not convinced. “C’mon, hun, you can tell me. Ol’ Susan won’t judge.” 

Pacifica’s shoulders slump. “The Pines twins are here,” she mumbles. 

“What’s wrong with that?” 

Pacifica raises her eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that? Everything! I don’t want them to see me like — like _this_!” She gestures to her clothes. 

Susan only looks confused. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?” 

She takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes. “I just — I don’t want them to see how far I’ve fallen.” 

“Oh, honey,” Susan says softly while lifting the young girl’s chin. “If I know anything ‘bout those kids, it’s that they’ve got bigger hearts than anyone else I know. They won’t judge ya. I promise.” 

She opens her eyes again. “Okay,” she says finally. “Okay. I’ll go — I’ll go take their order.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

Pacifica puts up a brave front as she grabs a notepad and a pen. She walks toward their table slowly, watching them laugh and grin at each other. The twins seem to be exchanging stories with both their uncles. They don’t notice her approaching. 

She sucks in a breath once she’s near enough. “May I take your order?” 

All four pairs of eyes make their way toward her. Each one is their own type of surprised, but shocked, nonetheless. 

“Pacifica?” Mabel says, a little breathless. She’s cut her hair since Pacifica last saw her, and it now reaches her shoulders. It looks good on her. 

“You — you work here?” Dipper squeaks out, his voice cracking with the first word. 

Pacifica hopes her face doesn’t give anything away. “Yeah, I started after summer. Um, do you guys want any pancakes?” 

“But why?” Dipper asks, ignoring her question. 

Her skin crawls with irritation. Here it is. The judgement. Her eyes snap back to Mabel’s own, whose eyes are still as big and innocent as ever. 

“Because,” she drawls, “in case you’ve forgotten, we lost the Manor and pretty much everything else we own, and if I want to be able to continue studying next year and eat three meals a day, I need to earn money.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes,” she continues. “Now, what would you like to order?” 

The uncles take three pancakes and one cup of coffee each, and the twins two pancakes each. Pacifica tells these things to Lazy Susan, who makes them. 

When Pacifica has to go back to their table to deliver their orders (with lots of hesitation, mind you), Mabel’s waiting for her with an apology. 

“Sorry,” she tells the blonde. “For being rude like that. We were just surprised.” 

“Yeah,” Dipper chimes in. “We didn’t mean to — you know.” 

“Northwest,” Stan says to her for the first time that day. His eyes grow soft. “If ya ever need a place to stay, the Shack’s open to ya. ‘Cause between you and me, I know what it’s like to have — kids, cover your ears _right now_ — shitty parents. Just ask if ya need to, alright?” 

Pacifica doesn’t know what else to say, so she nods. She’s a little overwhelmed by the kindness. 

(And this isn’t the first time Stanley Pines has been kind to her. He’d taken her in during Weirdmageddon, and she’ll be forever grateful for that.) 

“It’s you and I,” Ford interrupts, snapping Pacifica out of her trance. “Grammar, Stanley.” 

Stan grunts. “Don’t, Sixer. Not now.” 

The twins laugh, and Pacifica fights off a smile. 

She retreats back to the counter with a ghost of a smile. Susan greets her with a glass of water as she sits down. 

“You okay, hun?” she asks. 

“I’m good,” Pacifica answers — and for the first time in a while, she means it. 

She’s good. And there’s no ‘maybe’ about it.


End file.
